


Merlin Who Gets Into Some Very Deep Shit Because He Is An Idiot

by SwaggerDownTheStreet



Series: Merlin Who Is A Stupid Idiot Dummy [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Regression, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Merlin, Fix-It, Gen, Immortal Merlin, Memory Loss, Oblivious Merlin, Powerful Merlin, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23622349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwaggerDownTheStreet/pseuds/SwaggerDownTheStreet
Summary: The one where a magically teen-aged, magically amnesiac Merlin gets thrown into Hogwarts like it's a jail (it's a school, so it kind of is) and that makes all the difference.Alternatively: Merlin Makes More Mayhem Than Even The Golden Trio Because Discreet Isn't An Actual Word in His Vocabulary
Series: Merlin Who Is A Stupid Idiot Dummy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700404
Comments: 82
Kudos: 444





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this on Easter, hiding in my room because we had family over. I'm sure many of you can relate :/

At first there was nothing at all. There was no awareness whatsoever.

Then, he slowly, very slowly, became aware of a slight tingling feeling. He had that vague, indescribable feeling you get in your head after being shocked by static elecricity.

After a second, he pinpointed the location of the tingling. It was in just his fingertips at first. A vague, prickly feeling, like when your arm falls asleep and is just now waking up. It felt like that.

The prickling spread. It spreaded slowly, gradually, travelling up his arms. It crawled along his skin to his elbows, and he became aware of his toes, too. Then his feet.

He slowly realized his back was pressed up against something. Something both soft and firm. The tingling spread to his chest, up his neck, to his face. He became aware of his face. Everything prickled. It was just on the edge of unpleasant. He had a metallic feeling in his head, in his sinuses.

He was surprised when he started to see. He shouldn't have been surprised. But it was a bit startling. His vision slowly started to clear up, black splotches of nothingness slowly, ever so slowly fading until there was just a haze over the dark green and brown hues, and then the haze, too, disappeared.

He was lying outside. On the ground. He was in a forest. That much he knew, staring up at the forest canopy with eyes that had been wide open since before he was aware they were there.

There was a horrid, intense buzzing in his ears. He felt like he was in a dream. Everything was unnaturally dark, but he was certain that his vision was back again. It must be night, then, he realized.

The buzzing finally faded after a long while. He was still lying in the dirt, staring up at the thickly clustered treetops.

People were screaming. He realized that with a frown. Very distantly, he could hear shouts, sobs, and screams ringing through the trees. The were definitely human, he knew that much for certain.

He thought of moving, but couldn't think why he should. He urgently felt the need to move, move out of the way, don't let those people find you here, no.

 _But why?_ he asked himself. _What's wrong with those people? Will they kill me?_ The urge persisted, no answers. He found he wasn't too surprised.

But he still couldn't find the energy to move. The more he became aware, the more he realized just how absolutely exhausted he was. This didn't make much sense, as he had just been sleeping. Hadn't he? He realized he didn't know.

He tried to think what he'd been doing. Why was he lying in the dirt on a warm night, on which something bad was clearly happening? But the more he tried to remember, the more he realized he didn't know.

His thoughts were jarred from his head at the sudden sound of uneven, staggering footsteps, much closer than the screaming and yelling. He needed to move.

"Hello?" Someone called out from a slightly different direction of the footsteps. There was a moment of silence before they said, "Who's there?"

Another beat of silence. Then, " _MORSMORDRE!_ "

His mind briefly displayed an image of a glowing green skull, a split second before that exact thing appeared in the black sky above, much more vivid, glowing a bright, sickly green, a snake protruding from its mouth.

He felt an unbridled sense of mixed fury and fear associated with that skull. Why? His memory failed him once more.

The thing rose higher and higher, glittering, stamped across the night sky. He stared up at it, an urge suddenly burning inside him, to find whoever made that horrid thing and destroy them.

The trees were screaming. No. No, that's stupid. _People_ were screaming. Much louder than they had been. Panic was racing through anyone and everyone in this forest, caused by that hateful thing in the sky. A snarl formed on his face.

Loud, sharp pops signalled the arrival of several people. He didn't know how he knew, and it was giving him a headache. He sat up.

"DUCK!" someone yelled.

"STUPEFY!" roared over a dozen other voices, just before several bright red flashes lit up the trees like fireworks.

"Stop! _Stop!_ That's my son!"

He stood, and stumbled slightly. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it and started toward the voices. He noticed subconsciously that there was a soft scarf around his neck.

The buzzing was back. It seemed to be only in his brain.

His vision hazed over, darkening as he took several deep breaths, desperately clinging to his precious awareness.

He could hear loud arguing in the trees ahead. He started fokrward. One foot in front of the other. Just one foot, one step, and again. And Again. That's right, keep going.

The arguing sounded very heated. He forced himself to keep trudging forward, one step, two steps, seven steps, until he stumbled forward into a clearing in the trees.

There was a large group of official-looking adults around four smaller figures. Three kids. One -- house elf. That's what she was. Yes.

The house elf looked absolutely terrified. She gasped at something someone had said -- a bigger man with a scrubby brown beard. "I -- I -- I is not doing it, sir!" the poor creature sobbed. "I is not knowing how--"

He'd had enough. "Come on, that's enough." The considerably large group of people turned to him, and he felt a sudden, overwhelming feeling of déjà vu.

"What?"

 _You've had your fun, my friend._ "She's sobbing. And terrified. Leave her alone."

"Who are you?" _Do I know you?_

"I'm Merlin."

_So I don't know you._

Pause. "What's your last name, boy?"

_...No._

_And yet you called me "friend"._

_...That was my mistake._

_Yes, I think it was._

_I could never have a friend who could be such an ass._

"I said, what is your last name?"

_Nor I one who could be stupid._

The feeling was gone. Merlin blinked. Everyone was staring at him. He suddenly felt much less confident.  
"I don't--" _Have another name. Another name...._ "...Emrys," he interrupted himself.

"I don't know anyone named Emrys," said a short, blond man. "Do you, Barty? Barty?"

"This isn't the situation we are discussing!" The scrubby-bearded man said sharply. "Elf, you were found with the guilty wand in your hand--" he brandished the wooden stick at her.

One of the three kids, a bespectacled, black-haired boy, gasped in recognition. "Hey -- that's my wand!"

"Is this a confession--?"

"Amos," interrupted a balding, red-haired man, "think who you're talking to. Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"

Merlin felt that weird, mixed urge again, at the name which once more brought up the image of a bright, glittering green, serpent-tongued skull, floating above a half-exploded house--

"No... of course not... carried away." Amos cleared his throat. "Elf--" He turned back to the shaking house elf-- "did you know that there is a way of finding out the last spell a wand used?"

The poor creature shook her head, bat-like ears flapping.

The man called Amos raised his wand and put the tip against that of the bespectacled boy's. "Prior Incantato!"

A transparent after-image of the glowing green skull erupted from the point where both wands touched. Merlin scowled at it.

"Deletrius!"

Merlin knew what was coming: a loosely-founded accusation. So he interrupted. "She could have found that wand anywhere. For all you know, she was meaning to return it to its rightful owner -- which, by the way, is something that should be practiced far more than it is."

Everyone turned toward him again. The elf scampered suddenly over to him and clung to the leg of his trousers. "Yes, tell them, Lord Emrys! Tell them that Winky is not conguring it! She is not knowing how--!"

"Quiet!" barked Amos.

"Amos," cut in a gray-haired man with a toothbrush mustache. "I am fully aware that under usual circumstances, you would want to bring Winky back to your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her."

The tall man must have been an authoritive figure, because Amos didn't object, despite looking like he would very much like to.

"You may rest assured that she will be punished." He turned to Winky, who was still attached to Merlin's leg. "Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible. I told her to stay inside the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me! This means clothes!"

Winky wailed. Merlin knew, almost instinctually, that being given clothing was the equivalent of being sacked to a house elf. He crouched reflexively to comfort her, rubbing her back as she wailed, "No! M-m-master, please! Not clothes! Not clothes!" She buried her face in Merlin's scarf as he continued to rub circles on her trembling back.

"But she was frightened!" The bushy-haired girl inside the now-scattered circle spoke up. "Your elf's scared of heights, and those people in masks were levitating people! Of course she'd want to get out of their way!"

The tall man looked at her coldly. The situation gave Merlin a strange feeling -- a master dismissing a caring, devoted servant for something they couldn't really take the fault of -- for some reason, Merlin felt he understood Winky's distress on some other level.

"I have no use for a servant who disobeys me." Merlin felt the words as if they were resonating in his bones, like watching someone else live his own long-forgotten nightmare. "I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and her master's reputation."

Merlin could practically feel Winky's pure anguish. He sat down and pulled the poor creature into his lap, murmuring nonsense softly into her large ears and rubbing her back soothingly. She was shaking, convulsing and sobbing so wretchedly that Merlin felt tears prick the backs of his own eyes.

The man summoned a very small blouse out of thin air and threw it at the elf unceremoniously. She cringed away from it as if she were a demon and the blouse was a crucifix.

There was a silence in which Winky's heaving sobs hung over the crowd depressingly, muffled slightly by Merlin's red scarf. He wondered why he was wearing it in the summer.

"You, boy," a thin, sharp-faced woman addressed Merlin, and everyone else in the clearing turned to look at him. "Where are your parents?"

He frowned. He tried to reach into the empty abyss where his memories should be, but he only succeeded in giving himself a headache.

"I -- don't know," he said at last. "Dead, I think." _Don't think too hard, we don't want you to hurt yourself...._

That gave them a bit to chew on.

"You think?" said the red-haired boy tentatively.

Merlin shrugged. "Can't remember."

Pause. "How old are you?" asked th red-haired man.

Merlin frowned. "Fourteen--" _\--hundred. What? No. No, don't be ridiculous._ "--I think."

"What do you know for certain?" the red-haired man asked patiently. He was patronizing Merlin, which irked him a bit, but he supposed it was only fair.

Merlin thought, scraping together the few things he knew for certain about himself. "Er, my name's Merlin... I have magic... erm... I'm from... Ealdor... yeah -- uh -- dragons -- I don't know, that's it."

He heard someone murmur, "Memory charm."

Yeah. No shit. Merlin hugged Winky closer to his chest, listening to her sharp, staggered breaths and concentrating on the feeling of her fingers clutched in his scarf against his chest.

He was suddenly very aware of how totally exhausted he was. His whole body was just begging to lay down and sleep for several centuries. His eyes slipped shut.

He heard the people standing around and muttering to each other, discussing something that included "St. Mungo's", "The Burrow", and "Fuck, he's barely conscious".

The discussing faded into an annoying background murmur. Merlin could feel his awareness slowly slipping from his grasp, and this time, he didn't fight it. And exhaustion took him.

* * *

The scrawny, dark-haired kid slipped sideways into a heap on the ground, still chugging the house elf, who had cried herself to sleep after Mr. Crouch threw the small blouse at her.

Ron found the entire situation a bit surreal. He'd been woken in the middle of the night -- after watching the final match of the Quidditch World Cup -- to find that fucking _Death Eaters_ were attacking the campsite.

He and his friends had fled to the woods with everyone else who wasn't a Ministry official, and _then_ some green skull that caused liberal amounts of panic was conjured by someone not fifteen feet away. As if that weren't enough, Winky, a bloody house elf, was accused of conjuring the wretched thing.

Then, just when Ron thought the levels of weird were at their high of the night, some random amnesiac kid stumbled in, looking like he'd slept in the woods with leaves in his black hair and skinny enough to tell he definitely wasn't eating enough, and defended a house elf. Then again, so was Hermione, but she was a girl and muggleborn, and also didn't look like a wildman.

The kid claimed his name was Merlin Emrys, was called "Lord" by Winky the house elf, announced that he didn't remember anything about himself, rambled something about dragons -- bloody _dragons_ \-- and promptly passed out while the Ministry officers discussed what to do with him.

They apparently decided the Weasleys could take him -- Ron's dad insisted that, "Molly won't mind one more" -- and so they brought the scrawny, unconscious kid back to their tents.

Hermione was furious about the way the Ministry had been treating Winky, as if she wasn't human. Which she wasn't, but _that doesn't mean she hasn't got feelings, Ron!_

The elf had to be pried from Merlin's (was that _actually_ his name?) grasp, which surprisingly didn't wake either of them up.

Then Ron's dad had to try and wake the boy up, which he succeeded in only slightly. The kid still looked like he was about to fall asleep again at any given moment, and Ron wasn't even sure he was completely lucid.

So, they trudged back to their tent, trying to brush off the many people who were desperately trying to get answers about the skull thing.

Thankfully, the tents were still standing, unlike several others. Bill, Charlie, and the others were already back, and they immediately attacked their dad with more questions.

Hermione and Percy got into an argument about Winky, and Dad tried his best explain about the "Dark Mark" and why it was such a big deal.

Then they went to get their three hours of sleep, because damn if they were going to stay awake until it was time to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is it that Merlin always ends up mixing with the Golden Trio...? Oh wait that's right, it's because this is fanfiction and we can do whatever the fuck we want.
> 
> Did ya like it? Did ya hate it? What do you think? Tell me!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your lovely comments! :) I think this is the best response to any of my first chapters so far... so...
> 
> HERE WE GO

When Harry woke up a few hours later, he didn't feel rested at all. In fact, he felt quite terrible, and he was pretty sure he'd gotten maybe thirty minutes of actual sleep.

He was woken by Mr. Weasley, who also looked as if he hadn't gotten more than an hour of sleep. Stumbling out of bed, Harry tried to rub the bleariness from his eyes without much success. Not much later, Merlin, the kid from last night -- this morning? -- was woken as well.

The kid was black-haired and scrawny. He was wearing a dark blue shirt, jeans, sneakers, and a bright red, soft-looking scarf. Harry wondered why anyone would wear long sleeves and a scarf in the summertime.

Merlin seemed very confused, and just as tired as anyone else. He was silent while they packed up the tent, but as soon as they finished, he seemed to make up his mind.

"What happened last night, after I... uh, fell asleep?"

Mr. Weasley sighed. "I volunteered to look after you until further notice. We'll need to get you to Saint Mungo's as soon as we're able to try and help you with your memory loss."

Merlin frowned. "But you've got a lot of kids already -- I'd probably just be in the way...."

"Oh, don't you worry about that." He waved a hand. "Molly won't mind one more -- Harry here isn't ours either, but she treats him just the same."

"She treats him better," corrected Fred.

George nodded next to him. "She gives him all the extra sausages."

"Insists."

"It's a bit annoying, really."

Merlin still looked quite uncomfortable. Harry couldn't blame him. "But... I don't even know any of you."

"But you don't know anyone else, either, do you?" Fred pointed out.

And that was that. They left as soon as they were able, portkeying back to the one hill, and then they finally got back to the Burrow and there were hugs and kisses all around.

After Mrs. Weasley wailed over how she'd yelled at Fred and George the morning they'd left, they all managed to get themselves into the Weasley's kitchen, and Hermione made Mrs. Weasley a strong cup of tea.

Then, as Mr. Weasley discussed the more despicable aspects of Rita Skeeter, Mrs. Weasley noticed Merlin.

"Who's this?" she asked.

"Ah--" Merlin looked a bit uncomfortable-- "I'm Merlin...."

"Is that really your name?" Ron piped up, curiously.

Merlin frowned at him. "Yeah... why? What's wrong with it?"

Ron shrugged. He looked as if he was trying not to grin. "Nothing -- just, it's a bit pretentious, isn't it? To name your kid Merlin?"

"What? Why?"

Ron shook his head. "Right, I forgot you wouldn't know."

"Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley sharply, "who is this?"

Mr. Weasley looked up from the paper he'd been muttering over. "Oh, that's Merlin Emrys. We found him the woods with no memory. Nobody else knows any Emrys's, so I volunteered to take charge of him while we try ro figure it out. We'll have to take him to Saint Mungo's. Although, it might be a while before we can figure this out, considering there's the entire matter of the Death Eaters rampaging at the World Cup... you don't mind, do you?" he added quickly.

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Of course not. One more shouldn't be a problem."

"Anyway, I need to get to the Ministry." He folded up the paper tiredly. "This will take ages to sort out, and I've only gone and made it worse...."

Percy also announced he would be leaving, and bustled out of the kitchen.

Mrs. Weasley looked quite indignant. "Arthur, no!" she said sharply. "You will not bring home some poor boy, and then leave to help with something that isn't even your department!"

"Molly." Mr. Weasley looked very tired. "What Skeeter published is going to cause even more panic than there would have been besides. The Ministry will need all the help they can get to smooth this over."

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry spoke up, unable to stop himself anymore, "Hedwig hasn't arrived with a letter for me, has she?"

"Hedwig, dear? No... no, there hasn't been any post at all."

Harry hadn't really expected there to have been, but he still felt quite disappointed. He made an excuse to leave the room with Ron and Hermione, intent on telling them about the Dream he had had before the Weasleys had come to get him from the Dursleys.

* * *

Merlin, meanwhile, stood awkwardly in the kitchen. He felt very uncomfortable, and he still didn't know anybody's first name except Molly and Arthur. The latter name felt sort of familiar, though he still couldn't remember where he'd heard it.

He wondered where Winky had gone, and whether she'd manage on her own. He hoped she was alright, although she was probably still devastated over being sacked.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were arguing about whether or not he should go to work. Eventually, Mrs. Weasley -- very reluctantly -- gave in, on the basis that Mr. Weasley would probably be fired, or at least demoted, if he didn't show up.

So Mr. Weasley and Percy both left for work, and Mrs. Weasley turned to one of her many sons, probably the oldest. He had long hair -- bright red, like the rest -- and an earring with some kind of animal fang on it.

"Bill--" Oh, good, another person's name-- "would you mind taking Merlin to Saint Mungo's? If you're feeling up to it, dear," she added to Merlin.

Merlin shrugged. "I'd prefer to remember myself as soon as humanly possible, to be honest."

"I don't have anything else that needs doing," Bill said. "We may as well leave now, then."

* * *

The Saint Mungo's healers were absolutely zero help. They performed several diagnostic spells with little to no success. The spells that _did_ work apparently yielded wildly conflicting results. The one thing they all agreed on was that they had never seen this type of magic before.

So Bill and Merlin went back to the burrow with no less confusion than they'd had already.

"A letter came for you, Merlin, dear," Mrs. Weasley informed him when they arrived in the kitchen of the Burrow. "It's from Hogwarts."

There was indeed an evelope of thick, yellow parchment on the table, bearing a wax seal and labeled, _Mr. M. Emrys, the Burrow_.

Merlin picked it up, popping the seal and pulling out the letter.

       
_Dear Mr. Emrys,_   


       
_You have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all the necessary books and equipment._   


       
_Term begins on September 1. As per the special circumstances in which you will be attending, a teacher will arrive at your place of residence on that morning to take you to the school. You will be sorted into your House and your appropriate year will be designated based on your age and skill level._   


      
_Sincerly,_  
Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress  


Merlin wandered into the living room, where Fred and George were bent over a roll of parchment, looking through the list of supplies he would need. He frowned.

"Why do I need a wand?" he asked no one in particular.

Fred looked up from his and George's conspiratorial whispering. "To do magic. You'll need to do magic if you want to attend a magic school. Unless you've alrady got one, of course."

"But isn't that..." Merlin felt more than a tad confused. "Wands aren't very popular, though...."

George looked up as well, now, staring at him. "Are you sure you've got your facts straight, mate? Wandless magic is supposed to be really difficult."

"Only wizards like Dumbledore and You-Know-Who can manage it," added Fred. "Unless it's Accidental."

Merlin felt more confused than ever. "Okay, first of all, no -- I _don't_ know who, actually. Also--" He waved his free hand vaguely and Fred's quill shot out of his hand-- "That wasn't an accident."

The twins both looked a bit stunned. They looked at each other, then back at Merlin. "Ah," Fred said at last, "I dunno what to tell you about that -- you really must be messed up in the head."

"You can ask anyone about You-Know-Who, though," George added. "He was a wizard who killed a lot of people, basically."

"What's his real name, then?"

"Er--" They both looked uncomfortable. "No one really says it."

"Ask Harry. Harry's a lunatic."

Then they went back to their secret parchment -- after Merlin had given Fred his quill back.

Merlin wandered back into the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was magically cleaning the kitchen.

"Er -- excuse me," he said, as Mrs. Weasley conducted a flurry of sponges flying over the table, "do you know where -- uh, Harry's got to?"

The sponges froze, and Mrs. Weasley turned to smile kindly at him. "He's upstairs in Ron's room, I think. They're getting caught up on the sleep they missed last night."

"Ah, right." Another thought popped into Merlin's mind. "Where am I going to stay?"

"The sitting room, for now, if you don't mind sleeping on the couch?" She looked at him a bit worriedly.

Merlin shook his head and smiled. "No, that's fine. It's only for about a week anyway, before school."

Mrs. Weasley smiled and went back to her cleaning. Merlin left the kitchen and made his way up the rickety stairs. He poked his head in the doors on his way up, careful not to disturb anyone. Most everyone was sleeping, which made the house quite quiet.

He reached the last door, at the very top of the house, and opened it carefully. Harry was sleeping on a camp bed pushed up against the wall, and the youngest red-haired boy was asleep on the bed.

Merlin stood in the doorway, debating whether or not he should wait to ask him about this "You-Know-Who" person. He was probably exhausted from being awake and running from creepy green skulls in the middle of the night, and Merlin didn't _really_ need to know _now_ , right?

He needn't have worried, however, because as he stood there, Harry rolled over and groaned. He opened his eyes and blearily looked at Merlin. "Hullo," he slurred, clearly still mostly asleep.

"Uh, hey," Merlin replied uncertainly. "Erm -- I was -- ah, I wanted to ask you -- who's 'You-Know-Who'? Fred and George told me you're the only one who'll say his name or something."

"Oh." Harry blinked a few times. "His name's Voldemort. Most wizards don't dare say it, 'cause he was this really evil wizard. 'Cept he's dead now, or something close to it."

"Right." It still didn't make much sense to Merlin, but at least he had a name to tack onto "You-Know-Who" now. "I'll just -- leave, then -- so you can sleep."

He started to close the door, but Harry shook his head. "Wait--" he scrambled to pull the blanket off-- "I don't wanna go back to bed. D'you wanna play Quidditch?"

"Ah -- I dunno what that is."

Harry stood, stretching the sleep out of his limbs. "Come on, I'll teach you."

* * *

Harry and Merlin stood in the Weasleys' orchard. Harry held his Firebolt in his hand. Merlin looked dubiously at the borrowed Cleanwseep George had let him use.

Harry wasn't actually sure he could teach anyone anything, but he'd been barely awake when he suggested it; logic didn't apply.

"What am I supposed to do?" Merlin asked him.

"Uh, right, so--" he put his Firebolt on the ground next to him to demonstrate-- "so you hold out your right hand -- yeah, good -- and say 'up'."

"Erm." Merlin looked skeptical. "Up." The broomstick shot into his hand with a loud smack. He looked a little shocked. "Uh, okay."

Harry proceeded to demonstrate how to properly mount, and then they were up in the air.

Merlin got the hang of flying soon enough, and then they started throwing and catching apples. After a while, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione came out. Hermione -- who didn't play Quidditch -- just watched while she read a thick book.

Eventually, almost all of the Weasleys were outside, and they wound up having to take turns on the brooms.

It was all very cheerful and familiar, and Harry felt as if he could play Quidditch in the orchard for the rest of forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so as I was reading the ninth chapter of Goblet of Fire for the sake of semi-canon-compliance, I noticed that at a part it mentiions that " _Winky was moving in a very peculiar fashion. It was as if someone invisible was trying to hold her back_ " and I just
> 
> (._. ) it was rIGHT FUCKING THERE!!!!! Why?????? Seriously, I'm so fucking mad rn
> 
> On another note, I was trying to find somewhere Merlin could fit in the sleeping arrangements, which I _thought_ would be a _simple_ thing but _NOPE!!!_ I had to draw out an actual layout for the Burrow just figure out a place for this idiot to sleep for a week. I'm so disappointed in myself.
> 
> And on a DIFFERENT note, I just did a two-week art project in the span of a few hours, and I _know_ that it's absolute shit, and I _hate_ myself, but at leAST IT'S DONE!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!11!!!!!!


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Mrs. Weasley brought Merlin to Diagon Alley via the Floo (Merlin found this form of transport rather uncomfortable as well as inefficient). Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny came along as well, not having anything better to do.

Their first stop was, of course, the huge white building called Gringotts. But to everyone's surprise, the goblins there not only recognised Merlin and bowed and called him "Lord Emrys", but they immediately had him brought to a disturbingly high-security vault. The others were regarded with distrust only until Merlin assured the goblins that they were with him.

Then there was the location of the vault. It was very deep down into the winding tunnels and underground caverns of Gringotts, further even than vault 713, where the sorcerer's stone had been kept before Harry's first year at Hogwarts.

Besides just the depth, there were all sorts of ominous noises that emanated from the shadows along the way. Nobody wanted to know what sorts of creatures might be making those noises. They were assured by Dingbat, the goblin with them, that the mysterious things wouldn't harm them, ("You're with the Lord Emrys. If you weren't, though -- well, let's just say it wouldn't be pretty!") but it really wasn't very assuring at all.

The vault itself was intriguing from the moment they finally saw it. It had six locks, each of a different metal. There was also a large, flat circle of wood in the center, sanded and richly colored, surrounded by a ringlet of lacy gold.

Dingbat used a different key for each lock, and then turned expectantly to Merlin.

"Um." Merlin shifted uncomfortably.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Dingbat questioned.

"Er -- well. I've sort of lost my memory."

"Ah." The goblin gave him a scrutinizing look. "I see. Just press your hand against the wood then, there we go."

The wood was surprisingly soft, and sank in at Merlin's touch, sort of like a pillow, leaving a handprint imprinted on the surface. Only then did the vault open up, and what a sight greeted them.

The vault was absolutely packed with _things_ , from gold, bronze, silver coins to jewels and goblets to medieval swords and armor to ancient, dusty books to a mop and a bucket. A very, very old mop and bucket.

As the six of them stood there, they each in turn slowly realized that this was just one chamber. There was a passage to the next on the other side.

"Erm. What the fuck." It was a testament to Mrs. Weasley's awe that she didn't reprimand Merlin's use of the language. He turned to Dingbat. "Is this all mine?" The goblin nodded, slightly impatient.

"Right." Merlin turned back to the blinding mass of metal and scooped up a sizeable amount of coins into a bag.

Then they left, Merlin wanting to be gone as quickly as humanly possible.

Their first stop was Flourish and Blotts, where they bought all the school books Merlin would be needing. Next, they went to Potage's for a cauldron, then to the apothecary for potions ingredients, and to the stationary store for quills.

They stopped to buy the last few things on the list before making their way to Madam Malkin's. They were greeted by a cheerful witch wearing mauve robes, who showed Merlin to a stool in the back. A long black robe pulled itself over his head and started pinning itself to the right lengths.

"Oh, and will you be needing dress robes this year?" Madam Malkin asked him.

"Er -- yeah, thanks."

She nodded. "What color?"

He hesitated for a moment. "Blue?"

She nodded again, and with a wave of her wand, several dozen pieces of parchment in different shades of blue appeared in midair. They ranged from pale, icy blue that was almost white to bright sky blue to dark and inky and nearly black.

He chose a rich hue more on the darker side, and that was that.

Now Merlin just had his wand left to get, and so they went to Ollivander's.

The shop was very small. It could barely fit all six of them, so Mrs. Weasley told them she would go to Madam Primpernelle's and meet up with them at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour later.

So the five of them stood in the tiny shop, looking around at the piled stacks of long, narrow boxes. Merlin could practically feel the dormant magic of the wands, waiting to be activated by just the right wizard.

"Good afternoon." There was an old man standing before them. Merlin was quite sure he hadn't been there a moment before.

"Are you Ollivander?" Merlin asked, knowing the answer.

The man smiled. "That I am. And you are here for a wand." It wasn't a question. "What is your name?"

"Er, Merlin. Emrys."

Ollivander looked at him through narrowed, unblinking eyes. "Yes," he said at last. "Please, hold out your wand arm."

He did. A tape measure appeared and began taking various measurements -- wrist to middle finger, elbow to shoulder, chin to floor, ear to knee -- while the others stood around awkwardly.

Measurements taken, the tape measure crumpled to the floor and Ollivander began flitting around the shelves, pulling out seemingly random boxes.

"I think that will do." The man removed a long, ordinary-looking rod of wood from one of the boxes and pushed it into Merlin's hand. "Chestnut and unicorn hair, eleven and a half inches, supple. Gave it a wave."

The wood radiated with stirring power under Merlin's fingers. He waved it, and it gave a startled little _pop_. The glass window shattered, and would have sprayed shards of glass over all six of the people in the shop, had it not been for Merlin's quick reflexes.

As it was, his eyes flashed gold and the pieces of broken window froze in midair for a heartbeat before floating back to their places in the frame as if nothing had happened.

"I think not!" Ollivander drew their attention again by snatching the wand back and replacing it with another. "Try this one instead, oak wood, pheonix feather, ten and three quarters of an inch, nice and bendy--"

The magic felt a bit irritated, as though it had been woken from a very long and pleasant sleep that was warm and cozy, and the sudden wake up was very much _not_ appreciated. Merlin gave it a hesitant little swish. There was an angry hissing noise like a snake, and a jet of steamy water shot out the wrong end of the wand, spraying Merlin in the chest. He yelped at the heat, and then that wand was gone.

"No -- here, blackthorn, dragon heartstring, eleven inches, springy--"

The wand was long, black, and twisted. Holding it felt horribly gruesome, like holding the hand of a close friend's corpse. A chill ran up Merlin's spine. He shivered. He gave the wand a tiny flick -- and the wand _exploded_.

Shards of wood flew everywhere, narrowly missing impaling the people in the small shop -- though Merlin may or may not have instinctively conjured a magical forcefield. They fell to the floor with several dozen small clicks, along with the heartstring core, which had been shredded into small pieces and made Merlin want to hurl.

"Oh dear," Ollivander sighed as if he'd just witnessed his nonexistant dog's death. "That was a good one... well, no dragon heartstring, then."

"Sorry," Ron voiced all their thoughts, "but what the bloody hell just happened?"

"Oh, nothing unexpected," the old man reassured them. Merlin didn't feel very reassured, especially when he added: "Unusual, yes... but not unexpected."

Merlin frowned. "But--"

Ollivander shoved another wand into his hand, this one long and thin and styled elegantly. "Cedar and pheonix feather, twelve inches, whippy -- give it a try."

Taking the wand felt warm and distantly familiar -- like the mother he couldn't remember had taken his hand. He gave it a wave, and a stream of bright, golden sparks flew out of the wand, twirling in the air and dancing around his head happily before settling to the ground.

Olivander clapped. "Good, good! We have a match! That would be eight galleons, Mister Emrys--"

Merlin dropped a dozen gold coins into the man's hand and they left with his brand new glorified stick.

Immediately after the shop's door closed behind them, Ron cried, "What the hell was that, Merlin?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Merlin yelled back. "I only just woke up in the middle of some forest almost two days ago! Without a memory, I might add -- I can't even remember if I ever used a wand before, so--"

"Alright!" Hermione butt in. "Listen, you have all the time in the world to continue your little squabble, but right now we need to go to Florean Fortescue's to meet up with Mrs. Weasley."

"I still think there's something up with him," Ron muttered, and then "Ow!" as Hermione kicked him.

The wandered down the street toward the ice cream shop, but then Ginny insisted they go into Quality Quidditch Supplies and stare at the new Solar Flare that had been released only a week before. It was, unfortunately, a much higher cost than any of them could afford. Well. Except--

"I could buy it for you," Merlin offered.

The others turned to look at him. Ginny bit her lip. "...No. No, that -- it's probably really expensive...."

"No, don't listen to her Merlin," Ron butt in. "Buy it."

Ginny glared at him. "What about mum? What are we supposed to say when we come to the Ice Cream Parlour with a brand new broom that probably costs more than our house?"

They didn't buy the broom.

They got sidetracked _again_ , however, when Merlin dragged them all into the Magical Menagerie.

"Come on, I wanna see the _creatures of magic_."

"You can see them if you take Care of Magical Creatures at school," muttered Ron.

Merlin ignored him and went into the shop. The first thing he noticed was the way the animals' differing types of magic clashed and mixed with each other. It held a feeling of absolute chaos where the animals were all contained behind bars.

The others wandered in behind him while he flitted around the many cages. There were snakes with multiple heads, seemingly normal cats that radiated magic, little balls of fluff with long pink tongues, and even what looked like a glass cage of fairies.

The more Merlin looked, however, the more he realized that the creatures in the cages weren't exactly in the best shape. Oh, they had everything they could need -- the right diet, fresh water, gentle care -- but they all seemed depressed and bored. Some even looked like they'd been sedated with something.

"Are you going to buy something?" asked the witch behind the counter, not unpleasantly.

Merlin frowned at all the contained animals and decided he'd definitely bring this up with someone the first chance he got. "Er, yeah, just give me a second."

Ginny wandered over to the pygmy puffs while Harry, Ron and Hermione stood around remembering the last time they'd been here.

Hermione had gotten Crookshanks, so it was a more cheerful memory for her. Ron, however, despised Crookshanks and had been here buying a tonic for Scabbers, his rat who had turned out to be a scheming rat of a supposedly dead "victim". An animgus. Harry had just been there, which was exactly what he was doing now.

Merlin's attention was caught by a glass cage that was glowing softly. As he grew nearer, he could feel the heat coming of it, like some kind of heat lamp charm or something. Inside this cage were dozens of eggs in every shape and size and color imaginable.

He turned to the witch behind the desk. "Am I allowed to touch these?"

"As long as you're very, very gentle and don't keep them out for too long -- they need the heat."

He nodded and stuck his hand inside. He hovered it slowly above the eggs with his eyes closed, trying to find the right one through the magic. There was one that felt very cold and unwelcoming... definitely not. One that felt warm and fuzzy, but just a bit too slow. One that felt stiff and boring -- no. One that felt wet and stupid.

He kept on feeling the vibes, regardless of the fact that he probably looked like a maniac. Finally, he felt a warm, excitable ball of fire and thought immediately _This is the one._

So he pulled it out and looked at it. It had the shape of a robin's egg, only much, much larger -- it fit perfectly in his cupped hands. The bottom of it was bright, clean white like ivory, which faded into yellow going up, and then orange and then dark crimson at the top, so it reminded Merlin vividly of a sunset.

He turned to the receptionist witch lady person. "What's this?"

She frowned, then pulled a roll of parchment out of nowhere with a flick of her wand. It unrolled itself in midair before stopping at a certain part. Merlin couldn't see what it was.

"Erm--" Receptionist Witch Lady Person scratched her head-- "it doesn't actually say. It just has the picture and the price."

Merlin looked down at the sunset egg. The egg pulsed with a kind of nagging excitement at the possibility of escape from this boring place that didn't deserve such a great creature. He frowned. "How much?"

"Ten galleons."

That raised a few nearby (Ron, Harry, Hermione, Ginny) eyebrows. Merlin shrugged and dropped the correct amount onto the desk.

"Hang on." Receptionist Witch Lady Person stopped him before he could leave. "Do you know a heating charm? You'll need to renew it every so often so that whatever's in the egg doesn't die from cold."

"Uh -- _beðest_."

To Receptionist Witch Lady Person's shock and the other four's amusement, Merlin's eyes glowed bright gold and the egg grew pleasantly warm in his hands.

"Um. Well. I -- suppose that works." She insistently excused them from the shop.

They finally managed to get to Florean Fortescue's without (anymore) distractions, but they needn't have worried, because Mrs. Weasley wasn't even there yet. They each ordered an ice cream -- Merlin insisted on paying -- and then they sat at a table to discuss things like school.

Soon, Mrs. Weasley would arrive and bring them back to the Burrow, but at the mment, Merlin blissfully talked about magic and school and Quidditch over a very large chocolate ice cream with chocolate syrup and shredded flakes of chocolate and everything else chocolate you coyld think of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This animal/creature/monster/thing that Merlin now has. I couldn't find very much information on them, which is shocking to me because reasons (lmao you dont get ANY hints) so Im sure this is illegal but at this point I really don't care. For all intents and purposes, there aren't any laws in this fic about this particular creature thing just because I couldnt find any on Pottermore or in the FBaWtFT book (yes I have that thanks for asking)
> 
> In other news, we're going on a two week vacation, so I won't be working on this very much while there.
> 
> ~~give me oxytocin~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, here's your next chapter.

The night before they left for Hogwarts, Harry and Ron were up in their room going through their school things. They had just come upstairs from a heated argument between Hermione and Percy about Mr. Crouch's treatment of Winky, the house elf.

Merlin, although seeming to want to stay out of it, was obviously on Hermione's side on the matter. He had nodded in agreement when Hermione pointed out the fact that Crouch didn't pay Winky, so she was essentially a slave.

Mrs. Weasley had interjected and sent them to go through their things, which lead to their current situation.

"What is this supposed to be?" Ron had discovered the horribly ugly maroon dress, frilled with moldy-looking lace in all the wrong places and colored the exact shade that Ron liked the very least.

A visit from Mrs. Weasley a moment later revealed to them that these were "dress robes", and upon unwrapping his own, Harry mentally added " _Cruel and unusual_ " to the rapidly growing list of words to describe Ron's new dress.

"You know," Harry said to a fuming Ron, after Mrs. Weasley had left the room, "I'll bet Merlin could fix those for you."

Pigwidgeon, Ron's scrawny hummingbird of an owl, decided that was a good moment to get an owl treat stuck in his tiny beak. Ron crossed the room angrily to help him. "Yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you and Hermione about him."

Harry thought about that for a moment. He thought he probably knew where Ron was going with this. "And?"

"There's something up with him."

Beat.

"Yeah...?" Harry thought this was fairly obvious in the fact that Merlin was constantly using magic previously thought to be unreachable to all but the most skilled wizards. There was the chance that it could be accidental magic, which was perfectly normal in an untrained witch or wizard, but Merlin's magic seemed fairly controlled and deliberate. Add the flashy gold eyes, and they had a perfect enigma on their hands.

"Well," Ron said slowly, turning away from Pig, "I just think it's a bit odd, you know -- your scar hurts -- which was because You-Know-Who was nearby, last time -- and then some weird kid shows up at the same time as the Death Eaters, with his weird magic and his vault of gold and exploding wands everywhere. Just seems a tiny bit suspicious is what I'm saying."

"Yeah." Harry nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I've been thinking about him too. Honestly though, he really does seem to have lost his memory."

"...He could just be a really good actor."

"Yeah, that's true. D'you reckon we should keep an eye on him, in case he does something more suspicious?"

"Yeah, probably."

* * *

The day of their departure, their was a sheet of heavy rain pounding at the windows. Merlin didn't have much to do besides eating breakfast, which Mrs. Weasley insisted he take several helpings of ("You're far too skinny, dear, your as bad as Harry--").

The dreary morning was suddenly made a bit more eventful with a surprise call from Amos Diggory, a Ministry wizard, who informed Mr. Weasley that a man named Mad-Eye Moody -- who Mr. Weasley apparently knew -- was in trouble with the Improper Use of Magic office and needed bailing.

Not long after Mr. Diggory left the fireplace, there was a flare of green flames and a tall, strict-looking woman stepped out. Her gray hair was up in a tight bun, and she wore square glasses and the traditional robes that marked a witch or wizard.

"I am here to retrieve Mister Merlin Emrys," she announced to no one in particular.

Merlin stood up from the kitchen table. "Hello. Are you Professor McGonagall?"

The woman gave him a piercing look. He did his best not to look away. "That I am. And you would be Mister Emrys, I assume?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

Just then, Mrs. Weasley rushed back into the room. "Oh, hello Minerva! You're here for Merlin?"

"Indeed."

They exchanged some quick words, talking as if Merlin weren't there, as adults are wont to do. Then Professor McGonagall turned to Merlin, addressing his existence once more.

"Do you have your things together?"

"Er, yeah, just a moment--" he glanced around the kitchen before spotting his trunk and grabbing it-- "yeah, I've got it."

"Are you aware of the procedures used for the Floo?"

"Um." Merlin shifted uncomfortably. "No?"

McGonagall exhaled. "You take a pinch of the powder, throw it into the fireplace, and announce your destination. Watch me." She took some white powder from a jar on the counter and stood in the fireplace. She threw it down and said, "Hogwarts, headmaster's office!" Then she disappeared in a rush of emerald green flames.

"Uh--" Merlin glanced at his heavy trunk. Within it was his mystery egg, wrapped in several school robes. The school letter had been very specific about which animals you could bring, and he was quite sure the egg wasn't a cat or a toad. It could have been an owl, but he didn't really think so. In any case though, it was probably very fragile. "Are you sure that's safe?"

"Very," Mrs. Weasley assured him. She held out the jar of powder. "Try not to inhale any smoke, and keep your elbows tucked in tight. And speak clearly, too, or you might miss your stop -- that happened to Harry his first time, and we couldn't find him for ages. We were awfully worried."

Merlin nodded. "Right." He lifted the trunk carefully with his magic, positioning it carefully so as not to crush the egg inside it. He stood beside it, holding on to it with one one hand. He reached into the jar with the other. He sucked in a deep, careful breath, threw down the powder, and said loudly, "Hogwarts, headmaster's office!" And then the flames consumed him.

The heat swept over Merlin, and he suddenly felt a dull flash of memory, vaguely like the odd déjà vu he'd experienced the night he had woken. There was a voice, deep in the back of his head, quietly but insistently telling him that he had a secret, a secret that people would burn him for.

Panic seized him, and it was only by sheer luck that when he threw himself from the fireplace, he actually wound up where he was meant to be.

He fell to the floor on his knees. He heard his trunk clatter to the floor behind him, but just couldn't be bothered to worry just yet. He breathed slowly as the panic faded away, and then he opened his eyes.

Professor McGonagall stood over him, looking as concerned as her strict composure allowed.

"Are you alright?"

Merlin nodded breathlessly. "Yeah," he lied. "Yeah, just -- a bit dizzy, is all." He gingerly picked himself up off the floor, adjusting his shirt, which had gone crooked when he'd fallen. "So this is the headmaster's office, then?" Obviously -- he had just said that very same phrase not a minute ago.

The room -- office, whatever -- was circular, with several rickety tables stacked with odd contraptions that clicked and whirred with no apparent rhyme or reason. There were a few shelves, also with odd contraptions -- including, for some reason, an old hat and a shiny ornamental sword -- and several bookshelves with hundreds of old books that must contain all kinds of magic and mysteries. The entire place radiated centuries-old magic from every direction.

There were also several dozen portraits on the wall. These were made all the more conspicuous by the fact that they moved, like most pictures in a magical place. Some of the portraits were unoccupied -- evidently their residents had business elsewhere, or were just bored with the company kept in this relatively small room.

The portraits that _were_ occupied, however, contained some rather interesting people. There was a thin man with a strict demeanor and a whispy patch of hair in the middle of his otherwise bald head. He looked at Merlin haughtily down his nose, as if he thought himself better than a mere child (and he probably did).

There was -- in a rather stark contrast -- a stout, cheerful man with his thick black hair combed back. He smiled jovialy, and tipped a glass of some dark drink (wine, probably) in Merlin's direction, a twinkle in his eye.

There was a pretty blonde woman in blue robes, a small, timid-looking old man, a white-haired old lady who looked like a stereotypical grandmother, a brunet man with his hair slicked back and tied at the nape of his neck. The portraits were a wild mix of haughty, kind, and indifferent; tall, short, somewhere in between; blond, brunette, raven-haired; even different degrees of faded, ranging from just barely there to vivid and bright, seemingly only painted a few months ago -- though it must have been longer, considering certain charms probably put in place to mantain the conditions of the portraits.

The last thing Merlin noticed was a rather large bird stand. He could feel the traces of magic on it even from here, and wondered what kind of creature usually took its place there.

In the next moment, there was a distant grating noise, like a large boulder being dragged across another large boulder. McGonagall turned toward the door of the office. "That would be Professor Dumbledore."

Sure enough, the large wooden door swung open to reveal a wrinkly old wizard with an ungodly amount of white hair. The man wore half-moon glasses on his crooked nose and long dark robes that swept behind him dramatically.

"Good day, Minerva!" the man greeted cheerily. "I see you have retrieved our young guest." He smiled warmly at Merlin, who felt just a bit more relaxed. Dumbledore then sat at his desk. "Now then, I believe Molly Weasley said you are fourteen?"

"Er -- yeah, something like that." Something like fourteen centuries. Merlin felt a bit weird.

Dumbledore smiled again. "So that would put you in the fourth year. However, if it were that simple, we could have just had you come on the train, as istudents usually arrive. We need to know where you are in your ability to use your magic, and how much you know. Minerva will handle that. However, the very first thing we need to do is sort you into your house."

Merlin nodded. Hermione had explained to him that there were four Hogwarts houses -- Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin -- and that they each valued different traits in their students.

"Now then." Dumbledore stood up again and went to the shelf where a ragged old hat sat. He picked it up. "We have an usual case here. You'll to sort this one before the others."

Merlin was confused for a moment before he realized Dumbledore was talking to the hat. The hat, which split open at a seam and replied, "Very well."

Dumbledore turned to Merlin. "Would you please sit on the stool, Merlin?"

"Er -- okay." He sat on the stool Dumbledore had indicated.

Then Dumbledore put the hat over his head. It rested on his ears and he felt a calm, relaxed magic stir inside it and wrap around his mind.

 _"Hmm,"_ the hat said, _"back again, are we?"_

_Er -- what?_

The hat paused. _"Oh, dear. Oh dear me. I am sorry, my old friend. Hmm. It would appear Destiny is not done with you quite yet..."_

_Sorry -- am I supposed to know you?_

The hat paused again. _"Hmm. I suppose not. No, I don't think you are supposed to know anyone in your state... we did know each other before, however. Now then, what house shall it be for you this time..."_

_Er--_

_"Ah, that one again. Well, I hope to hear from you again, old friend."_

_But -- wait--_

But the hat had made it's decision.

"SLYTHERIN!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Yeah. Y'all probably already knew that was coming but I still tried to make it a bit dramatic lol.
> 
> Anyway, we got back actually a while ago, so sorry about that. It was fun, though, and we got to see the mountains which was really cool. Honestly, I don't think I coukd get over how FUCKING big they are if I stood there for a year. And my ears popped a bunch of times.
> 
> The house had a Netflix, which was new, and a really great 8-foot pool, so that was fun. We also went to a ghost town, you know like one of those touristy things. It was mostly closed cuz covid, but it was still fun.
> 
> I burned.


End file.
